Desperation for a Perfect Moment
by Caseyrocksmore
Summary: Post "Yanks in the UK" : Hodgins wants to remember a perfect moment, and ends up creating one. Hodgins/Angela


_**WARNING:**__**  
THIS FICTION CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR "BONES" episode 4.01 "YANKS IN THE UK". If you haven't seen it, don't read (unless you don't care if it's spoiled for you, of course)!**_

_**A/N: What I think should have happened after the season 4 two hour premier. I saw it and got this plot bunny that forced me to write this. This is a one-shot, so don't ask me to continue, please.**_

**Desperation for a Perfect Moment**

_She breathed onto his neck and he touched her hair, running it through his fingers. She sighed happily, and he leaned in to inhale her scent. Her light floral perfume tickled his nose and almost made him sneeze, but he resisted, not wanting to ruin the perfect moment with the love of his life._

_They were lying on the porch outside their bedroom, the sun setting behind the Washington buildings. The air was wet and muggy, almost humid, causing their skin to be tacky and their hair to curl. They would probably have been more comfortable inside his large, Victorian-style home, but the view was just breathtaking. And he wasn't looking at the sunset._

_She giggled and looked at him, brown eyes meeting blue. Zach was out front doing some experiment, having come home from work early for once; but neither noticed him look up and smile at the couple reclining in a single deck chair._

_It was a perfect moment, the one everyone would like to store away in their memory like a photograph to remember on lonelier days. It was perfect, precious, and beautiful. Just like the woman in his arms._

Jack Hodgins opened his eyes and saw the sun rising through the glass doors that led to that same porch. It was a wonder to him, how only a month or so ago a moment could have been so perfect. Before everything had come and been ruined; before he had lost everything he loved.

It was perhaps a week before Zach was sent away. Hodgins could still hardly believe his best friend, whom he thought of almost like a little brother, could have done the things they had accused him of. But he had, and he was paying for it. And none of them would have found out if it weren't for Zach's love for Hodgins. If he hadn't been trying to protect him... he would have gotten away with it.

Hodgins had been depending on three things to stay consistent in his life; Zach, his best friend, Angela, his wife-to-be, and his work. When he lost Zach, he thought he could burry himself in his work and with his beautiful, perfect, kind and loving fiancée. Then Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth had flown to London, and everything had gone downhill from there.

He played the scene over and over in his head, and didn't know why he hadn't stopped her.

"_Hey, you're the one leaving," he observed, not really believing she had gotten up and started walking toward the door of the little diner that they loved so much. She turned to him and gave him that sad look. Those puppy-dog eyes that tricked him into doing things he never would have before he fell in love with her._

"_You're the one who isn't stopping me."_

Why hadn't he grabbed her arm; yelled for her to stop? Why hadn't he stopped her from leaving? He loved her. He knew he did. And he _did_ trust her, no matter what she said.

_I do trust you Angie_, he thought, the tears running freely from his eyes and soaking his pillow, _it was him I didn't trust. I trust you with every fibre of my being. I love you._

He closed his eyes again and let himself cry. He had known when he met her that she was a wild spirit that couldn't be tamed. And maybe she wasn't meant to be. Maybe being unobtainable was just a part of who she was.

He was aware, some minutes later, of the sound of rain hitting his roof and the glass door to his porch. He pulled himself out of bed numbly, sitting up and enjoying the sound. Angela had liked the rain. She said it was freeing. Calming. He hadn't really gotten it.

He got out of bed, even though he was tired and it was probably about four in the morning, and dragged himself to the door. He put a hand against the cool glass for a moment, then leaned his forehead against it; letting it make him cold. He needed to be numb.

He opened the door and went outside, closing it behind him. He was quickly soaked to the skin; his tee-shirt and boxers sticking to him like they had been super glued.

He went to the chair. The chair from his memory, from the perfect moment. It seemed so lonely, getting rained on. It needed company.

He sat down, leaned back. He could still smell her hair; feel her sigh against his neck. He lowered his gaze toward the lawn and saw Zach, mixing chemicals by the driveway. It was perfect again.

He closed his eyes, his tears getting lost in the rain. He had lost the one thing he had truly cared about. Her. It wasn't perfect. Would never be perfect. Not without him. Not without her. It wasn't fair.

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The next morning when the 'squints' were at work, it was Agent Booth, who had just returned from London, who noticed Hodgins' absence before anyone else.

"Where's Hodgins?" he asked, leaning over to look at a photograph Angela was examining. She shrugged.

"I have no idea. We split up, remember?" Her tone was not one of pleasantness and hospitality, to say the least. No one had mentioned Hodgins' absence to her, because they knew that she didn't know where he was. Booth didn't take the hint.

"Yeah, Bones told me, but... I mean, he's still supposed to show up, right? I need him to do his mumbo-jumbo and tell me what's in a soil sample." Angela glared at him.

"Why don't you just call him?"

"I did," said Booth, leaning against her desk, "Six times. Twice on his home phone, four on his cell. I kept getting his voicemail. Maybe someone should check up on him."

"It's not like you to be concerned," countered Angela, wanting to avoid the topic of going Hodgins-hunting, only because that if it was needed, they would make her go. "Not for a 'squint', anyway." Booth rolled his eyes.

"I am when I need him to close a case. Come on, Angela, just go over to his place and tell him to get his butt down here." She glared at him again. Booth sighed. "You do it... or I will." He placed a hand on his gun threateningly. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Like you'd hurt him," she scoffed, turning back to her work. "Bluffer."

"You're right, I wouldn't," he said, smiling evilly, "But that doesn't mean I can't... scare him a little." Angela slammed her magnifying glass down with a _bang!_.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

Angela stared him down, but eventually gave in. She sighed. "You really want me to go look for him?" she asked seriously. Booth nodded.

"It's probably your fault he's missing, so you better fix it." Angela pulled off her rubber gloves and looked at her watch.

"Fine. It's my lunch break anyway. But if he's not there and I waist a half hour of my life driving to his house, it's on your head."

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"Hodgins, open up!" She hit his door with her fist again. He wasn't answering. She glanced up toward the porch, probably just as a reflex, when she saw him. He was sprawled on his favourite deck chair, one arm hanging limply over the edge. His eyes were closed, she could tell, and he wasn't moving.

"Jack!" she called, putting her hands around her mouth. He didn't move in the slightest. She grabbed her purse and began to search for her keys desperately. It took a minute, but she found them.

She unlocked the door and automatically ran up the familiar stairs to her ex-lover's bed room, flinging the door open and rushing to his porch to make sure he was alright.

He opened the glass door and went to him, putting her hands on his bare shoulder to shake him. He was cold to the touch, and damp; as were the pyjama bottoms he was wearing. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

It had rained, she remembered. That was why he was wet. It had rained the night before. She touched he neck with a shaky hand. He had been sick with a bit of a cold for the last days. Falling asleep outside in the rain was basically suicide. He should have known that.

Her hand was shaking so much she couldn't tell if it was his heart beat she felt, or her own. She needed to call 911. She needed to get help.

She jumped up from her crouching position and ran to his bedside table, grabbing his phone so hard that she nearly ripped it from the wall. Her clumsy, desperate fingers dialled 911 and it rang for what felt like an eternity, but must have been only a few seconds.

"_911, what is your emergency?_"

"He's on the porch and he's so cold, I'm not sure if he's breathing," said Angela quickly, looking toward him from where she was standing.

"_What is your location?_"

Angela quickly fed her the address, but hung up after she told her to stay on the line. She needed to call Brennan, and get back to him.

"_Brennan._"

"Bren, Sweetie, Booth asked me to come check on Jack and he's so cold, I can't tell if he's breathing..." She was slurring her words she was talking so fast, and she hoped that Brennan could understand her.

"_I'll be right there. Stay calm._"

Calm? Calm?! How was she supposed to stay calm? Hodgins might be dead, for all she knew. She dropped the phone and went back to him, putting a hand on his cheek. He was so cold, so lifeless.

"Jack," she whispered, putting her other hand on his face and turning it so he was facing her. She fell to her knees beside his chair. "Jack, wake up. Please wake up."

Nothing. Not even a flicker of life. She put her hands on his cold shoulders and shook him in desperation, and his head fell to one side. "JACK!"

She could hear the ambulance's sirens in the background, barely audible above the seemingly deafening sound of her own heartbeat, which felt like it was in her throat. This could _not_ be happening.

"Jack," she whispered, closing her eyes as the tears began to fall freely. "Jack."

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"I got here as soon as I could get off," said Cam, walking into the waiting room and sitting down in a chair beside Booth. "Any change?" Angela, who sat across from them, shook her head sadly.

"How c-could this of happened?" she asked, feeling numb. "He was smarter than that. He shouldn't have gone outside in the rain when he was sick."

"It's going to be alright," said Brennan awkwardly, because she thought it was what needed to be said. Angela fell apart, flinging her arms around her friend's neck and crying into her shoulder.

Brennan hadn't much experience with this kind of situation, so she patted Angela on the back and told her everything was going to be alright, again. Booth looked almost amused by this, and would have smiled had one of their precious 'squints' not been fighting for his life.

"Ahem? Party for Jack Hodgins?" The group looked up at a male blue doctor with stunningly blue eyes and messy brown hair. Angela let go of Brennan and jumped from her seat.

"That's us," she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. The doctor smiled almost apologetically.

"We've raised his temperature past ninety degrees, and his breathing has been stabilised," said the doctor, and the others slowly stood up, stretching their tired muscles. "He's out of ICU, now, and we've given him some medication for his... cold." It would have been funny, had it not been so severe.

"How is he? Can we see him?" Angela looked wide-eyed at the doctor, who was watching her with what almost looked like fascination.

"Family members can see him, now, I suppose, but friends will have to wait until visiting hours." He quickly surveyed the group. "Are any of you his family?"

"I am," declared Angela, and the others glanced at each other.

"Well, then, follow me," said the doctor, leading her out of the waiting room. "He's not conscious yet, but they say it helps to talk to them." He motioned toward the door of a private room. "I'll leave you two alone."

Angela opened the door and peered in, shocked at what she saw. Hodgins, hooked up to machines and an IV. Hodgins, looking helpless lying on the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. Hodgins, eyes closed and breathing slowly, like he were only asleep, rather than a temperature-induced coma. Her Hodgins, broken and cold.

She closed the door behind her and made her way to his bed, sitting down in the chair set up beside it. She took his hand, which still felt vaguely cold. She ran her thumb over the tape that held in his IV, feeling it pulse with his heartbeat. That alone made her smile through her tears. At least he was alive.

"Jack," she said, then stopped. What do you say to the man who you broke up with less than forty-eight hours ago? He had nearly died out there on his porch. What he had been thinking? And what could she say to make him feel better, if he could hear her at all?

"Jack," she started again, licking her lips, "I know I said I didn't trust you." That was lame. He knew that. "But..." She sighed. "I do. I trust you. I just need to know that you trust me. I don't know what you were thinking, going outside in the rain like that, but if it was because of me..." She shook her head, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry."

She squeezed his hand, with both of hers, holding onto it like a lifeline. "I know we broke up. But truthfully, I don't know what I would have done if we'd lost you." She swallowed again. "If... _I_... lost you."

His heart monitor beeped on a steady beat, reassuring her. "If you can hear me, Hodgins..." She stopped, sighing. "Jack, I love you, and I've never stopped loving you. I know what I said, but I do trust you. It's me I don't trust."

She put her head down on the bed beside his hand, lifting it to her cheek. The waiting to see him had been excruciating and tiring, and she soon fell asleep.

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Angela woke to the feeling of someone stroking her hair. She lifted her head and her brown eyes met his blue. It was a couple hours later, and they were still alone. The doctors must not have woken her when they came to check on him.

"Hey," she whispered, sitting up and grabbing his hand.

"Hi." He seemed confused. "What happened?"

"Booth got worried when you didn't show up for work," she explained, tears coming to her eyes. "I went to check on you and found you." A tear fell. "You weren't breathing, and so... cold. I thought you were d—" She couldn't say it out loud.

Hodgins stared at her, watching her tears fall. He pulled his hand away and reached up to her face, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

"Don't cry," he said weakly, "I'm not dead."

"Jack..." she said, knowing that he hadn't heard her declaration of her love for him, "We need to talk."

"Angela, will you just listen?" She looked at him and nodded, not saying a word. "Do you want to know why I saw outside?" She nodded.

"Remember last month when we were outside on the porch together? And Zach was on the lawn?" She nodded. "I was remembering. It was the most perfect moment I'd ever experienced, and I just wanted to... I don't know, relive it. It seemed like a good idea at the time." She laughed through her tears.

"Hodgins—"

"just... listen," he cut in and she closed her mouth. "I know you don't trust me, but the truth is, I've never trusted someone more than I trust you. It was _him_ I didn't trust." He spat out the word 'him' like it was a curse word. "I know you probably hate me, but I still love you, and I'll give you anything, _anything_, if you give us another shot. You can have your wedding in Jamaica—"

"Hodgins."

"You can have as many children as you want—"

"Jack." He stopped and looked at her, tears welling in his own eyes.

"Yeah?" He looked at her expectantly.

"I love you too."

Jack Hodgins could not have been a happier man. He sat up in his hospital bed and kissed his love for a long moment, trying to remember every detail. For another, near-perfect moment, had occurred. And he never wanted to forget it.


End file.
